


Not a Mystic

by Buttons15



Series: Random Overwatch AUs [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Pokemon GO
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Overwatch/Pokémon Go AU - In which trainer Angela has a rather strange meeting on christmas' eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am I doing with my life

Angela Ziegler put down the last of the ornaments in the Christmas tree and tiptoed so she could reach the top and place the star there.  She took a step back and admired her handiwork – blue balls, blue ribbons and blue lights – all perfectly suiting the thematic decoration, all but the yellow star. It popped out, and she involuntarily winced.

Sensing her distress, her Pokémon stood from the corner and wrapped his ribbonlike feelers around her wrists. She was not, as far as she knew, a Pokémon, yet the gesture still held its soothing effects. She ran her fingers through her companion’s fur, and he nuzzled her palm.

“Danke, Sylveon,” she muttered, and it meowed in return. “Things haven’t been easy for the two of us, have they? But I do believe I’ve made the right choice.”

She absently touched her belt, where next to a single pokéball, a yellow crest laid.

 _It could have been worse,_ she told herself. _I could have joined Valor._

The sheer thought of the chaos that would have wrought was so disturbing, she shuddered. She would love to tell herself – and her family – that she’d joined Instinct in an impulse, but she was not, for a fact, an impulsive person. No, it had been a calculated decision, one that, ironically enough, was worthy of a Mystic.

She brushed a finger against a sparkly plastic Articuno that hung from the pine’s branches. _Conceal, don’t feel_ – the words she’d been raised with, but had chosen not to live her life to. In the eternal battle of brains-over-brawl and brawl-over-brains, Angela Ziegler had chosen neither. She knew, every time she witnessed an Instinct’s trademark kindness, laidback attitude and innocent curiosity, she knew that was where she belonged.

She didn’t regret it, not at all. Yet she couldn’t help poking on these old wounds when she was surrounded by so much oppressive blue.

 _I got a Sylveon for god’s sake,_ she mulled over, pulling her hand back. _Not a Glaceon. Not even a Vaporeon. A gottverdammt Sylveon, what were they even expecting?!_

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. Her family had never really forgiven it, and the holidays were always moments of tension, even though she was so rarely home. Because she spent most of her time in Zurich, holed up in her lab, working on her research, her visits to Stuttgart were seldom at most, yet every time, she was determined to make it up to them.

And every time, she failed in a different way.

It didn’t matter. She was a determined woman, and she refused to quit trying. She flicked her wrist and checked the clock. The preparations were mostly ready, yet there was one single thing she still wanted to get – a symbolic little trinket she’d first seen at the antique’s shop as a kid, but had never had the money to get until then.

“I’m off to some last minute shopping, Syl,” she called, unlocking the door and grabbing a coat on her way. “Coming with?”

The Pokémon extended his front paws, stretching, then licked his muzzle and hopped off after her. Angela smiled. “Always good to have your company, my friend.”

It was a short walk from her house to the tiny store, but the snow made the streets slippery and the wind was strong, so it took her almost fifteen minutes to get there. She wondered, what with the holiday and the weather, if it would be open at all. She needn’t have worried – it took more than a little blizzard to stop a German from working.

“Reinhardt!” she greeted, pushing her way through the entrance. The veteran greeted her with a wide grin. She approached to shake his hand and was abruptly lifted from the ground in a bear hug. Laughing, from the corner of her eyes she spotted Sylveon greet the man’s unusually large Flareon in a similarly excited manner.

“You have grown so much!” he exclaimed, putting her down.

Angela rolled her eyes. “You say that every time, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t grown an inch since I was eighteen.”

“Pah! Smart-mouthed as every single Ziegler,” he retorted, then reached out under the counter and pulled a pair of mugs. “ _Kaffee_? Hot chocolate? To what do I owe the honor of this Christmas miracle of a visit?”

“ _Danke_ , Reinhardt, but _nein, bitte_. I’m just here for a quick purchase. Remember that little Lugia pendant?”

The man’s eyes glinted. “The one you loved as a little child? Funny you ask, someone came looking for it just the other day.”

“Oh,” Angela muttered, disappointed.

“Cheer up, _kind._ I haven’t said I sold it, have I?” Reinhard produced a small jewel box from a drawer and pulled it open. “Turns out I saved it just for you!”

The blonde smirked. “Uh-huh. With your prices, I doubt that’s why it’s still here.”

“Pah!” he huffed in mock indignation. “You taking it or not?”

She nodded, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and drew her wallet from her pocket. The prices were salty, even for a jewel, but she was earning well and she thought she deserved that little gift. Angela had a good feeling about it; she’d always admired Lugia’s myth and what it represented, and she meant to wear it as a good luck charm of sorts. Perhaps that symbol of union and harmony would be what it took to remind her family of what was truly important, and if it didn’t, well, she could afford to give herself a little childhood wish as a consolation prize.

Stepping out of the shop, she adjusted the beanie on her head so it covered her ears, then giving in to the itching of finally having a much desired new trinket, she removed a glove and fished the box from her pocket. Opening it with utmost care, she pulled on the chain and lifted it to eye level so she could take a closer look –

“Hey. Hey!!” Someone yelled from across the street. Angela snapped her neck to the side and saw –

_What the…_

She wasn’t sure what exactly she saw. It was a person, of course, a woman, she could tell by the voice, but that was about it. Whoever it was, she was so bizarrely overdressed that only the chocolate eyes were showing. The Swiss woman could count at least four layers of coats, two pants, one wooly hat under a hood, a scarf and pink ear warmers.

 _It’s not even that cold,_ she thought, bewildered.

“ – hey!” the woman closed the distance between the two. “T-t-that thingy. The n-n-ecklace. You can’t take it.”

_What._

“Um…actually, I can. I paid for it.”

The other stepped back and muttered what were definitely curses on a foreign language. She reached for a pocket, then another and another, getting more aggravated with every one, until she finally produced a pokéball and with a cry of success, expanded it on her palm.

“Yeah!” the stranged yelled, then threw the ball. A flash of light and a characteristic puff crossed the air, and from it emerged a Sandslash. It was a tragicomic sight – the Pokémon, not used to the snow, immediately slipped and fell on its belly, shivering.

“Battle me for it!” the trainer exclaimed, oblivious.

“Weee?” Sylveon tilted his head, puzzled.

“Are you…mugging me?” Angela asked, equally confused. _…with a Sandslash? In the peak of  Stuttgartian winter?_

“What?! N-n-no!” the other exclaimed, offended.

“…you kind of are,” the blonde insisted. “ _Scheiße,_ woman, put the poor thing back in the pokéball, it’ll freeze to death.”

The Sandslash creaked in agreement, and the not-mugger cursed again before recalling the Pokémon with an apology. The woman pulled the hood down and lowered the scarf that covered her mouth, and Angela could see for the first time her tan skin and clearly foreign features. She had a tattoo under her eye - an Udjat, she recognized the symbol.

“Listen, I j-just, I r-r-eally need that p-p-pendant –”

She took a deep breath, rubbed her temples, and made what was likely a really unwise decision. “Let’s get inside somewhere. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate and then we can talk about it.”

_And that’s why I’m not a Mystic._

“Weeoo!” Sylveon cheered, poking a cold muzzle on her palm. Angela tilted her head. Syl had been her first Pokémon, back when he was still an Evee, and even though they had been together for pretty much all their lives, he often eluded her.

Yet what she’d learned after all their years together was that though she usually didn’t understand him, she could always trust his _instincts_ , and right then, he seemed oddly content with her choice.

They made their way to the nearest coffee shop, and Angela had to stop the other woman from slipping and falling into every single spot of ice on their path. They were all but holding hand when they finally reached the place, and once they took their seats, the relief was visible on the other’s body language.

The blonde ordered warm drinks for three and turned to the stranger, then extended her hand. “Angela Ziegler, but you may call me Angela.”

The woman eyed her hand for almost a full second, and Angela could all but hear the little click when her brain caught up and she extended a hand in return. “Oh! I’m Fareeha Amari. Pharah for short.”

They shook on it just as their beverages arrived. The Swiss served her Pokémon first, herself second, waited until Pharah had had a little to drink, then started up a conversation.

“You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uh, no,” the other stated, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m from Egypt, actually. It’s a long, crazy story.”

Angela lifted her cup and made circular movements, watching the liquid swirl in it. “Humor me.”

The Egyptian shrugged. “It’s my mom,” she explained, stopping every now and then to take a sip. “She was a… prominent team leader, back in my country. And then, one day, poof! Just gone. She vanished without a trace, and I’ve been chasing leads ever since. That pendant, the one you bought – it belonged to her, and I think it might show me my next step.”

“A team leader. Valor, I take it?” the blonde finished her drink and put the mug down.

“Um, yes. How did you know?”

“’Battle me for it’ was your first impulse,” she mused. Pharah gave her a sheepish smile.

“You’re Instinct, right?”

She arched an eyebrow. “What makes you think so?”

“Well, you didn’t kick my ass, and you didn’t call the cops on me either,” she paused. “Uh, also the crest on your belt.”

It suddenly crossed her mind that the woman might be hungry. Angela thought of bringing it up, then decided against it – Fareeha had immediately struck her as a proud woman. Sylveon laid a head on her lap and gave her hand a light nibble. Angela looked down at him and received a meaningful look.

She called the waiter and just ordered food for three without asking, then took the box from her pocket and placed it on the table. The Egyptian’s eyes glinted at it, and she noticed for the first time that the other’s features were incredibly striking. The dark skinned woman eagerly reached out for the box, then stopped herself short.

“May I?” she asked. The blonde nodded.

Pharah removed the pendant from the box and inspected it closer, beaming. “That’s it! That’s really it! Ha! That old geezer wouldn’t let me touch it, but here, you see –” she leaned forward on the table and flipped the little Lugia. On its back, something that Angela had never noticed before  - Reinhardt hadn’t let _her_ anywhere close to the jewel before she bought it, either – a symbol, similar to the one tattooed on the woman’s face:  the Eye of Horus. And next to it, two letters had been carved – A.A.

“That’s for Ana Amari,” Pharah began to explain, but was interrupted by the waiter bringing their meals. She ate ravenously, and Angela subtly pushed her portion to the woman’s side of the table.

“What do you think happened to her?” she queried whilst the other ate. “Do you have any ideas?”

Fareeha froze and locked eyes with her. “One. But it’s crazy.”

“If it brought you all the way to Germany, I think it might be worth listening,” she shot back.

“Well…remember those stories from childhood – I mean, at least from my childhood, about the birds –”

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “Universal tales, those.”

“And how each bird patrons over one of the teams,” the other continued. “Moltres for Valor, Zapdos for Instinct, and Articuno for Mystic? Well, there’s the fourth bird, Lugia…” she trailed off.

On her lap, Sylveon perked up his ears, suddenly focused.

“You don’t mean…Team Harmony,” Angela completed. “It’s a myth. The birds, the fourth team, all of it.”

“Is it?” Fareeha countered. “I don’t think my mother was just a Valor leader, Angela. I think she might have been involved in something much…bigger. And this -” she picked the pendant back. “ – I know it cost you a lot. I don’t mean to steal it, I swear. I just… I need to borrow it. I need to see this through.”

“Weeoo,” Sylveon squealed. The blonde squinted at him.

“Syl?” she asked, but the Pokémon was already moving. He placed its paws on top of the table, reaching out, and brushed his muzzle against the silver medallion –

A purple light spread from where the metal had touched skin, and it was abruptly snatched from Pharah’s hands, vertically floating in the air, hanging still for a second. Then it moved, turned horizontally the chain folding over itself until it took a definite arrowlike shape, pointing outside. It trembled and whizzed –

Then the glow dissipated and it fell back on the table, inanimate once more.

“Weeee,” Sylveon cheered.

Angela had no words for it. She gaped, blinked, suddenly feeling very, very thrilled. Pharah was quicker to recover.

“…I think I may need to borrow your Sylveon, too.”

“Like hell you will,” the blonde retorted, and then, without giving time for the other to look disappointed – _she didn’t want that to happen for some reason –_ she completed, “I’m coming with you.”

The Egyptian blinked. “You…are? Really?”

“Are you kidding me?” she snapped with no real bite. “You come to me with the plot twist of my life, and you don’t think I’ll chase it? I’m a scientist for god’s sake, we’re curious people.”

Pharah smiled, no, downright grinned at it. “Wow. That’s…yeah. I think…I think I’m okay with that. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Angela mused. “My pendant? My Sylveon?”

“Uh, yeah,” the other stared at her innocently. “Thanks. For everything, really. You’re being a real angel – hey, that’s your name, right? Angel.”

She _blushed._

_What the hell._

“Wee-eee-ee” Sylveon squeaked, and was that a Pokémon _giggle_?

_Conceal don’t feel, conceal don’t feel._

She was good at that. She had been raised into that. She cleared her throat, taking control of the situation. “We can get on the move really soon, just not today…Christmas holidays, I hope you understand.”

“Oh! Yes, of course,” the other nodded. “I didn’t mean to intrude…or throw your life upside down. I mean, I’m real anxious now that I’m this close but… I realize if I involve you, I have to compromise.”

Angela smiled. “It’s fine. I shan’t delay. Just a day, two at most… where are you staying? I’ll meet you as soon as I can afterwards.”

Pharah blinked. “Um, at that street corner you found me. I’d tell you the name, but it’s German, I can’t even begin to think how to pronounce it.”

“You’re staying on the street,” the blonde stated.

“Well…”

“Stay the night at my place,” she offered, because damn it, it was winter and she had a heart. “I’ll have the air mattress inflated for you, there’s plenty space in my room.”

“That’s…um, very kind of you. Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem?”

 “Um, absolutely,” she lied.

_I’m bringing a foreign hobo Valor home for Christmas._

“Sweet!” Pharah smiled again, and it was so bright and sunny, it seemed to obliterate Angela’s concerns just like that.

“Wee-ee-ee-ee” Sylveon laughed again.

_And this is why I’m not a Mystic._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know I wanted this AU to happen until I began writing it; sorry for the, well, trashy plot, OOC characters and everything


	2. Chapter 2

It was a known fact that Instinct was not a team as traditional as Valor and Mystic. Sure enough, whilst lineages of well-known reds and blues were commonplace everywhere in the planet, the yellows were mostly the random oddballs which popped up every now and then, and it was rare to see a family which consisted solely of generations of Instincts.

Fareeha shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when she found out Ziegler’s relatives didn’t belong to the friendly and welcoming team. Yet she didn’t expect them to be – well, _European Mystic Royalty._ She shifted on her feet, uneasy, fiddling with her fingers while the blonde obliviously focused her attention on the terminal she was using.

 _I should have known from the Eevee,_ she reprehended herself.

Indeed, Eevees could be considered the world’s most elite personality test. Children from well off and _traditional_ families would often get an Eevee egg before they could even speak, and by the time they had grown into their teens, the bond between Pokémon and trainer would be strong enough that more often than not, if the trainer died, the Pokémon would soon follow.

The evolution of an Evee was considered a great rite of passage into adulthood and what it evolved into was very telling of the trainer’s personality.  Pharah had only seen an eeveelution once before – a Flareon, from the very clan who first brought Valor to the city of Cairo. Angela’s Sylveon had been the first she’d met. She didn’t think there were more than ten or twenty of them in the world.

“Weee,” the Pokémon in question mewled, giving her an oddly sentient look.

She swallowed dry and tore her eyes away from him – and back to the line of portraits hung on the wall. A much younger Angela was there, the last picture to the left, dressed all in blue with an Eevee in hands and a big grin on her face. Out of the entire fifteen or so faces, hers was the only one with a smile. It was the one most to the right, however, which kept Fareeha’s brain in a loop.

 _It’s Blanche,_ she thought for the billionth time, staring at the white-haired, blue eyed, serious person in the photograph. _Oh my fucking Moltres, it really is Blanche._

She scanned the pictures again, paying closer attention to the Pokémon this time. Blanche’s violet Vaporeon really stood out, yet she couldn’t help but think Angela’s Sylveon would have popped out as well, had it been depicted. Those two peculiarities aside, the other trainers followed a pattern of Vaporeons for the first six generations, until one of the ancestors – a fierce looking man – appeared with a Glaceon. After that, Vaporeons and Glaceons would alternate up to that final eevee.

It blew her mind to think that Glaceon might have been the first not only in the family but in the whole _world._

“I’m almost done here,” Angela broke the silence, making her jump. The terminal beeped, and five spray-type potions rolled out from its opening.

“Wee?” Sylveon exclaimed, standing up on his hind legs to take a closer look. He sniffed at the flasks, and Angela absently rubbed the back of his ears while she pocketed the vials on her backpack with her free hand.

“ _Ich weiß_ , Syl,” the woman replied, still tapping on the screen. “I rather not have to battle either, but we don’t know what’s in store for us, so I have to be prepared.”

“Wee-ooo.” Falling back to his fours, the Pokémon wrapped one of his ribbons around his trainer’s wrist, and she smiled in return.

 _Their attunement is amazing,_ she thought, awed.

The machine emitted another sound, and this time, four pokéballs fell from the dispenser. Angela slid them into her belt with ease, fitting them right next to her Zapdos crest. Fareeha hadn’t seen which Pokémon the other had chosen and it was rude to ask, but she couldn’t help but wonder the kind of power a clan as old as hers could pack.

 “Another stop at my bedroom and we’re good to go,” Angela said, switching off the computer and leading the way out.

Fareeha gave one last involuntary look at the first portrait, comparing blue eyes with blue eyes, white hair with golden locks, the stern Vaporeon with the friendly Sylveon. And then the Pokémon stopped by her side and, much to her wonder, wrapped a ribbon around her wrist, the other still holding the blonde’s.

“Wee,” he tugged.

Ziegler tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “He’s holding hands with you.”

She felt heat rise on her cheeks, though she couldn’t quite explain why or how to react. When they reached the room she’d been sharing with the blonde for the last couple days, she hung back by the door, arms crossed, feet tapping impatiently.

Angela came out again after a few minutes. She’d changed into yellow-and-black Instinct attires, complete with the jacket, boots, gloves and a snapback hat with a Zapdos print. The Egyptian resisted the urge to burst out laughing; only Instinct had an official “pokémon adventure” uniform, and only an Instinct member would actually consider wearing it.

 _And boy, doesn’t she wear it well,_ an intrusive thought popped on her mind, and she quickly looked away.

“Looking good,” she muttered before she could help herself.

“Oh,” the blonde halted in place. “ _Danke_. So, uh…” she blinked. “Time to go?”

Fareeha adjusted the equipment on her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Time to go.”

Anxious and eager, she bolted ahead, and only when she stopped at the corner she realized the other hadn’t followed, tilting her head at her from the house door. Confused, she jogged her way back, only to find the blonde equally bewildered.

“I thought you said we were leaving?” She queried.

“Yes, but…” Angela fished something out from her pocket – a set of keys. “…In my car, of course.” She paused, that lazy half smile tugging at her lips. “We’re not ten-year-olds in a pokéjourney, Pharah.”

_Well, look at what you’re wearing!_

She could literally imagine the other turning the cap backwards before sending a Pokémon out to battle, like every edgy teen had done at least once.

“Wee-ee-ee,” Sylveon hopped around them enthusiastically, and Fareeha had the weirdest impression the Pokémon was laughing at them.

* * *

 

“So how do we know where to go?” Fareeha asked once they had driven a good six blocks away from the house. “Uh...where are we going, anyway?”

“Paris,” the other stated casually, not taking her eyes off the road.

_Wait, what?_

“I gave Reinhardt a call,” she explained. “He refused to tell me much about where he got the pendant at all, but then I insisted and he finally gave me a lead – one name, that’s all. So it seems we’re going to find someone who goes by Amélie Lacroix.”

It didn’t ring a bell. “Never heard of her.”

“I hadn’t either, until I looked her up…” she trailed off.

In Fareeha’s lap, Sylveon pressed a muzzle to her palm. She wasn’t used to holding someone else’s Pokémon like that and it made her a bit uneasy, but she rubbed the back of his ears and he seemed pleased enough.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” she prompted.

“She is a Mystic…well, used to be,” Angela began.

That gave Fareeha pause. Though joining a team was not mandatory, it was highly recommended. Once joined, the team would vouch for its member’s honesty and integrity, and whilst the occasional unaffiliated eccentric could always be found, in bigger cities it was all but impossible to get work without picking a faction.

Switching teams was not forbidden, but it was unusual. And while relationships cross team were commonplace, each of the three groups worked in such distinct ways that even after marriage, members hardly ever defected. Saying someone “used to be” in a team, more often than not, meant something else entirely: a ban, a punishment only passed for grave offenses.

“What happened?” she queried, sitting up straighter. The seatbelt tugged at her neck when she moved, and she mentally complained.

“It is strange,” the blonde said. “She was a regular member up to seven years ago – and then she went AWOL, gone, off the map just like that.”

Her pulse sped up and she felt her head spin. “Seven years ago… that’s when mom disappeared,” she spoke hesitantly. “It might be just a coincidence…”

“Or it might not,” Angela finished. “She reappeared four years later for a brief moment, in which she presented herself to the nearest Mystic headquarters – in London, of all places – and signed the resignation papers. In her exemption request, all she wrote was ‘agenda incompatible with team principles’.”

“That’s…eerie,” she concluded. “Whatever that means, I don’t like it. So, she’s in Paris now?”

“Her location is unknown,” the blonde stated. “But I know someone who’s good at finding people. I’ve contacted her, and we have set up a meeting place… so that’s where we’re going now.” She bit her bottom lip, thoughtful for a moment, then added: “I’m sorry if it feels I’m overstepping here, I… took a lot of measures without consulting you.”

“You did,” Fareeha agreed, “And I rather we decide things together from now on,” she asserted.

“Will do,” she nodded. “ _Es tut mir leid,_ I apologize again, Pharah. Things happened a bit fast and I just went with my gut…” she trailed off, then shook her head, scoffing. “I should have thought it out better. Well, at least Sylveon thinks it’s a good idea… that’s gotta be a good sign, _ja_?”

“Wee,” the Pokémon concurred, giving her fingertips a light nibble. She looked down at him to see big, sheepishly innocent eyes.

“It’s fine,” she sighed. “We have a lead to follow, so I suppose that’s that.” _And I sort of noticed from the start you had a very domineering personality,_ she mentally complemented. “You never told me what you do for a living,” she asked abruptly.

“I’m a doctor,” Angela said, her hand quickly moving to the car stick to change gears. “And a scientist.”

“A Pokémon doctor?”

“A people doctor,” the blonde replied, amused. “Not a vet. A physician.”

“But a Pokémon researcher,” the Egyptian insisted.

 _“Nein,_ a people researcher, _”_ the other tore her eyes off the road for a moment to give her an amused look. “You do realize there are things in this world beyond Pokémon… like their trainers who sometimes get, you know, diabetes or cancer.”

Fareeha huffed indignantly. “Well, Pokémon are just way more interesting, I don’t see why you’d want to study anything else.”

“Wee!” Sylveon agreed, and Angela rolled her eyes.

She looked off the window, saw they were leaving the city and going into the countryside. In the horizon, she could see the ups and downs of German Alps. Settling down for what was bound to be a long journey, she took the liberty of switching the car’s radio on.

 _“I will travel across the land, searching far and wide,”_ the speakers blared, and a large smile crossed the Egyptian’s face.

“Oh gods, Fareeha, have mercy,” the blonde whined, but she was already turning the volume up.

“Teach Pokémon to understand, the power that’s inside!” She sung enthusiastically, Sylveon joining in with a weird cross between a howl and a meow.

_“Ooooh, it’s you and me, I know it’s my destiny!”_

“C’mon Angela, I know you know it, come on, come on,” She gave the other her best version of the puppy eyes. “Make it up for disregarding me, pleeeease –”

“…You teach me and I’ll teach you,” the doctor half-sung, half groaned.

“Pokémon!” Fareeha finished, pumping her fists in the air. “Gotta catch ‘em all!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where am I going with this? not a clue


	3. Chapter 3

Fareeha had to admit she was a little excited about finally getting to know Paris – and by ‘a little’, she meant ‘completely ecstatic’. The lights, the music, the people, everything about it made her feel like a child again, and when she first laid eyes on the iconic Eiffel Tower, she couldn’t help but gape in wonder. It was night when they got there, and the building alternated between bright yellow and the red-white-blue of the French flag.

She heard Angela breathe out a light scoff, though her lips were quirked in a smile. “First time in the City of Lights?”

“I always heard it was the City of Love,” she blurted, then her brain caught up with her mouth and she felt her cheeks burn. “Uh. I mean.”

The blonde laughed. “I remember when my parents first brought me here – I must have been six or seven.” Her smile widened to a grin. “I spent five whole days in _der Louvre._ In the last couple ones they had the family Machamp look after me because no one could stand another moment of classic art.”

 _Nerd,_ she thought but didn’t say, all but hopping on her seat.

“We could stay for a tour,” she suggested, not taking her eyes off the road. “I wouldn’t mind showing you around, and there’s tons to be seen. _Der arc  de Triomphe, die Notre-Dame, die Seine, das Pompidou…_ ”

Despite her eagerness to chase her mother’s lead, it was a tempting offer, and she hesitated. “What about your contact, though?”

The other looked up to the sky, then shrugged. “She operates undercover, I don’t know her exact location. She’ll find us soon enough, though. She probably already knows we’re in town.”

The thought of it made the Egyptian uneasy. As if sensing her concern, Sylveon pressed his nose on her palm and meowed. “So, uh… where do you know this person from, exactly?”

Angela spared her a sideway glance, guiding the car into a parking lot. “She’s an Instinct. We worked together on the 243rd division – the Raikou. You can trust her, though she’s a little bit…quirky.”

_Aren’t all Instincts though?_

The thought that the yellow team would actually have _divisions_ gave her a bit of pause. She always figured they’d run in something akin to anarchy, and not the familiar, Valor-like militarized order. And though faction organization methods were not precisely secret, it was still taboo to ask how a team not your own was run, so she pushed her discomfort to the back of her mind and cleared her throat.

“Well… I did always want to try the famous French food.”

Hopping off the car, the medic pocketed her keys and led their way to the street. The Egyptian followed close behind, still stunned at the sheer beauty of the city. “Pff, it’s overrated – but I won’t be the one to pop your bubble. I know a place, actually.”

“And, uhh, where will we be staying?” it crossed her mind to ask. As she spoke, little puffs of vapor came out of her mouth, and she shivered, rubbing gloved hands together.

“I know a place,” the other repeated.

She felt a tug on her wrist when Sylveon looked up at her. Standing on his two hind legs, it pressed his paws against her stomach. She let out a surprised yelp when he climbed her arm and up her shoulder, wrapping himself around her neck like a scarf. The Pokémon was surprisingly light for his size, and she petted him behind the ears.

“Wee,” he purred.  

 Shaking her head, Angela rolled her eyes but stopped to watch, and when she slipped on the frozen stone of the sidewalk for the fourth or fifth time, the other offered her an arm.

And so they walked, arms linked, off into the Parisian night.

* * *

 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great and all,” Fareeha gestured to the empty plate. “But why is there so _little_ of it? How is that a main course? It’s barely an appetizer!”

Across the table, the blonde’s eyes twinkled. “You can ask for another, if you’d like.”

Taking a look at the menu, she scanned over words in french she could not quite understand. The numbers in front of each option however were quite clear, and she hesitated. “You sure that’s okay? It seems expensive.”

“Fareeha,” the other said, speaking the name with the wrong strong syllable, a lazy smile twisting her features. “Did you see my house? I’m _rich._ ”

“Oh,” she blinked sheepishly, not sure how to deal with that kind of situation. Her family hadn’t been exactly poor, but they could never afford much luxury either and after her mother disappeared and she burned her resources in the search, she went through rough periods of poverty.

“…well, if you don’t mind…”

“Wee-ee-ee,” Sylveon quipped on Angela’s lap. The blonde waved it off.

She was wolfing down her third or fourth place of delicious-yet-minimalist _cuisine_ when she heard a chair move. When she looked up, she saw they had been joined by a short-haired girl who wore a ragged leather jacket and aviator sunglasses even though it was almost midnight. Looking over her ray-bans, the newcomer _winked_ , then turned to Angela.

“Aaaaand you’re back in the game, aren’t you, luv?”

Fareeha froze, mouth open, holding her spoon halfway up.

_What._

“Operative Tracer,” Angela greeted with a nod. “May I get you something? A drink perhaps?”

 _The contact_ , she realized, straightening up on her chair and placing the cutlery back into the bowl. She took the other in, checking her features more closely. The woman was short and restless, her accent heavily British, her feet tapping on the floor whilst her eyes darted around the room. It was a behavior Fareeha would usually associate with fear, but Tracer didn’t seem particularly anxious, merely…

_Electric._

“Wee,” Sylveon squealed, jumping to the ground. Extending his neck, she saw the Pokémon excitedly bump noses with a Raichu that sat by Tracer’s feet.

“Thanks, hun, but I’m good. You want something, Pikaflu?”

The Pokémon bumped his tail on the trainer’s palm, letting off a loud spark. The woman chuckled, and Angela rolled her eyes.

 _So that’s how she styles her hair,_ Fareeha thought meanly.

“He’s good to go. So how can I help ya’ today, Operative Mercy?”

_Operative Mercy?_

Feeling left out, the Egyptian cleared her throat and gave Angela a sharp look.  “Introduce us, will you please?”

The blonde bowed her head in acquiesce. “Pharah, this is Tracer – as I told you, we served in the same division. Tracer, this is Pharah, a friend with an odd story.”

The brunette blew her bangs from her face and leaned forwards, grinning. “Amari, Fareeha. Valor Sergeant in Cairo.” She placed her sunglasses on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “I always do my research.”

Assuming a defensive stance, Fareeha didn’t let her face show surprise. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared deep into the woman’s chocolate eyes. The other didn’t flinch, smiling dangerously, and she found herself giving the stranger a new level of respect.

“So you know why we’re here, then?” she pressed.

“I have an inkling, yes,” Tracer leaned back against the chair and turned to the blonde. “But why don’t you say it out loud, luv?”

Fareeha found the British’s intimacy and spontaneity slightly annoying.

“We’re looking for someone…” the blonde trailed off.

“My mother,” Pharah finished.

“And I’ll be sorry to say I can’t help ya, hun.” The woman picked her sunglasses from the table and eyed them absently. “Ana Amari hasn’t left a single footprint since her disappearance and trust me dearies, if I didn’t find anything then there isn’t anything to be found.”

“We’ve got a new lead,” Angela interjected. “We’re looking for someone called Amélie Lacroix.”

There was a moment of silence in which Tracer involuntarily flinched, her skin going pale, and then she leaned forward, gritting her teeth, breath hitching. “Meet me at the corner of _Rue Lepic_ and _Rue Coustou_ tomorrow at midnight. You know the one – near _le Rouge._ ”

“I know the one,” the blonde confirmed.

“Good,” the small woman exhaled, agitated. “Good.” She repeated, standing up with a brusque movement that hit her knee against the table. Cursing profusely in a language Fareeha could only assume was _British,_ she beckoned for her Raichu and scurried off without saying goodbye.

She blinked, bewildered, noting with some distaste that her soup had gone cold. On the other side of the table, Angela had gone deadly still, her gaze lost in the distance. “Are you going to finish that?”  she finally asked absently, staring at the plate.

“I don’t think so.”

The medic sighed, and Sylveon wrapped one of his ribbons around her wrist. The tension visibly rolled off the woman’s shoulders after a couple seconds, and she ran her fingers over the Pokémon’s fur.

“ _Danke,_ Syl,” she whispered, then lifted her eyes.  “I think I’ll have some wine. Join me, will you?”

She wasn’t a fan of drinks, but she felt the night definitely deserved one, and it felt rude to refuse. She nodded.

“ _Un Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise, s’il vous plait._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Looking back to it, Fareeha realized she’d subconsciously assumed they’d be meeting somewhere stealthy. She was wrong. On the corner they waited, there were people. A _lot_ of people. So much, it actually made her feel a little out of breath. She hopped from foot to foot, waiting. Next to her, Angela absently sipped on a mug of warm coffee.

“Don’t like crowds,” she muttered, uneasy, checking her clock. It read 11:56.

“Not much longer now,” the blonde replied. “She’ll be here soon. British punctuality and such.”

“Wee,” Sylveon offered, wrapping a ribbon around the Egyptian’s wrist. She wasn’t sure what exactly the Pokémon did right then, but she felt warmth climb up her arm and relax her muscles. Her heartbeat slowed down and she took a deep breath, feeling calmer.

Angela spared the two a look and a smirk. “He’s really taken a liking to you,” she commented. “It’s rare that he’d get so comfortable with someone in so little time.”

“I like him too,” she replied, crouching down to rub the Pokémon behind the ears. “Right, buddy?” He purred in response.

And then someone grabbed her _other_ wrist and they were suddenly being dragged from the busy streets and into a dark corner, a speechless Tracer guiding the two through twisted paths. They walked in silence for almost ten minutes and when they finally came to a stop, Pharah was panting and the four layers of clothes she wore felt too hot.

“Here,” the British huffed, pulling an envelope from her coat and handing it to Angela. Her Raichu was nowhere to be seen, and her Pokéballs weren’t exposed either. Fareeha wondered if she kept the Pokémon in a ball at all. Once captured, a Pokémon’s DNA signature would register to a trainer’s ID so they couldn’t be captured again by someone else, and it wasn’t unheard of for trainers to let their companions roam completely free, particularly among Instincts.

“That’s all I got on her.” The woman hesitated. “Zig, I…” she stopped, took a deep breath.

The blonde placed a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Tell me why it brings you so much anguish.”

The two made eye contact for a couple seconds, then Tracer dropped her gaze. “She was…is…someone important to me. Used to be one of my best contacts, we… worked well together.” They traded a meaningful look that made Fareeha think maybe working wasn’t all there was to it.

“And then?” Angela pressed.

“And then she disappeared,” Tracer hissed. “For four years she was just – just gone. Gone, and everything on her vanished with it – her records, her documents, even her fucking Pokémon Storage Account. I looked – I looked so hard, Zig. But someone was erasing her footprints. Someone _really_ efficient. Someone dangerous.”

“But she reappeared.”

“And she was not the same!” the British exploded. Angela blinked in surprise. “I don’t know what the shit they did to her, but it’s as if she can’t _feel_ anything anymore. She ignored all my requests to meet her and when I sought her out anyway, she – she –”

“Hey,” the blonde interrupted. “Lena, hey,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around the other’s smaller frame. Tracer – or Lena – didn’t resist, burying her face on her teammate’s shoulder. Angela ran her fingers through the brunette’s short hair in return, whispering softly in German.

Feeling as if she was intruding on something rather intimate, Fareeha stepped back and looked away for a moment. When the two broke apart, the British seemed to be breathing lighter, and she extended her palm when Sylveon poked her fingers with his muzzle. The Egyptian cleared her throat then, announcing her presence.

“So…” she trailed off. “Do you know how she might be related to my mother?”

Tracer shook her head. “What she did in those four years is a mystery to me. I know for a fact that she joined with… an underground team.”

Fareeha tensed. While Instinct, Valor and Mystic were the only three teams officially recognized through the world, it was the norm that smaller, unofficial factions would pop up everywhere. Almost every teenager had their own made-up team with their friends, and though they would all join with one of the big three when they came of age and adult life demanded, sometimes those parallel factions persisted.

When they did, it was often because their members would not be accepted elsewhere – criminals, troublemakers, violent and dangerous folk – or because the team itself had illegal purposes. Rockets, Aquas and Magmas – she could think of many of the larger ones, and smaller, ganglike groups could be found fighting for control of the underground life in every city.

“And which one is it?” Angela queried, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

“Zig…”

“Operative Tracer.”  The blonde said, her tone firm. “With whom exactly are we dealing with?”

“They call themselves the Talon,” Lena replied quietly. “Upon further investigation, I have found them to be an elite branch of TG.”

“Tee-gee?” Pharah asked.

“Team Galactic,” the British clarified. “Worldwide faction, very restricted, very secretive – intentions unknown.” She turned back to her teammate. “Zig, please – we left that life for a reason, yeah? Please, let’s just – just drop this. Just let it go.”

There was one long moment of silence, and then the blonde sighed. “I can’t… I’m invested in this now. It wouldn’t be fair to Fareeha, or to her mother.”

Tracer swallowed dry. “Ami… I mean Amelie, she is… someone very dear. It might be too much to ask you to help, but… I still have faith in her. So _please_ , just – just don’t –”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the other interrupted. “I’ll… for you, Lena, I’ll see what I can do.”

Exhaling, the brunette let herself fall sideways, leaning against the alley’s dank wall. Angela slid the envelope inside an inner coat pocket, nodded to her teammate and stepped away, walking back to the main streets. Fareeha began to follow but stopped when she felt a hand grab her wrist. She turned back to see Tracer, agitated.

“We served together for six years,” the British blurted. “For six years, we… watched over the people. We found, dismantled and ripped apart these criminal factions… hunted them down to their very last members. Frontline work. By our hands, the European branches of Team Plasma and Team Flare ceased to exist. By our hands, Team Rocket took a blow so great they still haven’t dared to step foot in the continent again.” The woman paused, letting that sink in.

Fareeha wasn’t sure what to think. It was hard to combine that picture with the Angela she knew, kind and gentle and oh so willing to help a complete stranger.

“Operative Mercy’s codename was meant as a joke,” Lena continued. “Ziegler is the single most ruthless, brutally efficient field agent I have ever known. When we left the Raikou division, she told me she wanted to make that name a reality – and by the gods, she did. She let herself be who she is – sweet, loving and so inherently _good._ A fierce advocate for peace, Pokémon and human rights. Wouldn’t hurt a goodamn fly. Won’t even battle Pokémon if she can help it.”

Tracer let go of her wrist and took a step back, releasing her breath in a humorless scoff. “You’re in good company. If there’s anyone in the world who can pull you through an impossible quest and succeed, it’s her, and yet…” the woman bit her bottom lip. “… Ami might not… survive the encounter. Don’t think for a second that Zig will hesitate, because she won’t.”

Their eyes met, an unspoken request passing through them, and Fareeha nodded. “I’ll look after her,” she promised. “After both of them.”

“Thanks, luv,” Lena replied, relief clear in her voice, and then offered her a salute. “Good luck on your quest… I hope you find your mum. And if you ever need some info,” she closed her hand on a fist and extended her thumb and middle finger, then brought her hand to her ear, mimicking a phone. “Gimme a call.”

“Pharah!” Angela poked her head out in the corner, looking sweet and innocent and nothing like the person Tracer had just told advised her about. “Slippery ice giving you trouble again? Should I fetch you?”

“On my way!” She yelled.

When she turned back to give the British a proper farewell, she found the woman was long gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing anymore


End file.
